Airborne - The 96th Hunger Games -SYOT Open-
by PerpetualRiley
Summary: 24 tributes are selected to participate, yet only one will be crowned Victor of these Games. Set within an airborne arena that brings the Games to new heights; tributes face obstacles and challenges out to kill them. Will your tribute go down, or will they take home the ultimate title of Victor? Welcome to the 96th Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor. [SYOT - Open]
1. Taking Flight (prologue)

**Taking Flight - Prologue**

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_If you tell me it was all for nothing then I'll tell you what,**  
** yeah, we're gonna start a ruckus -_ **The Young International**

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**Alana Ryker; Peacekeeper.**

We move through the District quickly, jabbing our guns at any citizens who come near us. With no hesitation, we climb over the fence that corrals the people of District Eleven within its borders. The woods are empty, but the three of us remain close together, as if invisible walls are squishing us together.

Juniper, with her aqua colored hair and peach skin, holds her hand out for me to stop walking. I come to a halt, and she throws herself down on a tree stump. "I hate District Eleven. Remind me again why we're here?" She pouts, raising the goggles around her neck to rest on the top of her head. Juniper flicks a blue curl from her face, sighing.

It's times like these I wonder how the woman sitting before me could possibly be from District Two. How could Juniper, born and raised in Two; taught to be ruthless, cruel, and bloodthirsty, become such a _Capitolite _with dyed features and an obnoxious personality? It confuses me every time I think about it. However, at the end of the day, no matter what her hair color or personality is; Juniper is from home.

"There's been signs of rebellion in the District. We were sent to look around, then report anything suspicious we see to President Lark." Vallick explains, leaning against a nearby blossom-filled tree.

After a few minutes of silence, Juniper scoffs in disgust. "I haven't seen anything except a bunch of kids picking a bunch of fruit. Nothing suspicious, unless you count the old man that came up, begging for food." She makes a _tsk, tsk_, sound.

I purse my lips and shake my head, "President Lark is going to be sending in the bombs if we, or anyone else, reports rebellious behavior. Take this seriously for once, June."

Juniper stands up, flattening her crisp white pants with her hands. "Fine, fine. If we have to be _serious_," she shoots a glance at me, "let's find some people idiotic enough to rebel and let 'em bomb this crap of a District." Without waiting for our responses, she walks ahead, purposely stepping on any leaf or twig she comes across.

"It wasn't _exactly_ a rebellion, y'know. They just got mad 'cause of the whole Games fiasco of last year." Vallick points out, marching in stiff movements like we do in training camp.

I bob my head in agreement, "Vallick has a point. All of the Districts are upset after Ingrid from District Two tortured the poor girl from Seven in the Games. Not really a rebellion."

She waves a dismissive hand in the air, rolling her eyes for the hundredth time this hour. "It's not a rebellion yet, but it will be soon." Then she stops in her tracks, pointing over to the left. "See what's over there? There's a big shack - smoke coming out of the chimney. Probably rebels in there, I'd bet."

Vallick looks at me like, '_Can you believe this_?'. He clears his throat and stares at Juniper, "_Or_ it could just be an innocent family."

Juniper aims her gun at the shack, an amused smile appearing on her lips as though she's been dying to get a chance to use her weapon, "In the middle of the woods? As if."

Vallick opens his mouth to respond, but she cuts him off, "We'd better walk around and go the back way, don't want to scare who ever is in there off, do we?"

_With all the noise we've been making, it's really no use._ I want to say, _If there's rebels in there, they've probably already seen us - or heard us._

The three of us start putting the years of training we had to endure to be able to don these white suits and fancy weaponry to use, moving silently on our tip toes, using hand signals to communicate; two out of three of us doing so hesitantly. We stop every few minutes to press our backs against a tree, holding our breaths as we look for any animals or citizens.

Once we arrive at the hut, the tension is floating in the air like a thick cloud of smoke. Juniper mouths '_On three_' and Vallick and I nod, narrowing our eyes and focusing on the door. Juniper begins counting silently to three, holding up her fingers as she goes along.

Juniper shouts, "Three!", and we raise our legs, place our feet on the door, and kick the wooden door down. All of us get down on our knees and aim our guns, but we're only pointing at the air. No one is in the shack.

I stomp my foot down onto the bamboo floor, "I knew it! This is probably just some poor man's house. Waste of ti-"

She cuts me off and slams her hand over my mouth, "Probably hiding from us, Alana. We're Peacekeepers with guns, they're weak rebels. They're probably scared, just as they should be."

Juniper kicks over one of the stools that sit at the round kitchen table, and then all hell breaks loose.

A hand covers my mouth, yanking me back against the owner's chest as I struggle against the tight grip. I can hear Juniper screaming in agony as the clatter of a gun dropping to the ground echoes in my ears.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Vallick pinned to the floor, kicking his feet and flailing his arms wildly while his gun sits a few inches from his body.

I manage to pull the trigger of my own weapon, firing randomly around the room. My captor's grip remains tight, regardless of the bullets that are being shot wildly.

I swing my leg backwards, hope that my enemy is a man, and kick my capturer's crotch. A grunt fills my ear, and I sink my teeth into the hand covering my mouth. Another grunt as the grip is released.

Looking over my shoulder, I can see that Juniper has escaped her own captor, inched herself over to her gun, and is now firing around randomly. A man with cocoa brown skin and a bald head comes barreling towards me, but I sidestep, grabbing his left arm and putting it behind him, grabbing his right and holding them together tightly with one hand.

With my other hand, I slam the man's head against a sharp corner of the wall. He falls to the ground, a moaning mess in a pool of his own blood.

It all happens so fast. Juniper and I press our backs together, firing at our attackers with deadly accuracy. As one falls to the ground, more replace the empty spot. Vallick has long forgotten his gun, using pure force to take them down.

Someone gets a grip of my light brown hair and yanks it down, slamming the back of my head against the floor. A woman with dirty blonde hair gets on top of me, pressing her knees against my throat as she keeps me pinned to the floor. The blonde grabs the top of my hair and keeps slamming my head against the floor until everything goes black, and the last thing I hear is Juniper screaming in pain.

When my eyesight comes back to me, dots still framing my vision, I'm tied to a chair in a dark room with no windows. Craning my neck, I can see Juniper is in the same position as me, a piece of white fabric tied around her eyes. Vallick is nowhere to be found.

"They're Peacekeepers, sent from the Capitol. We should kill them now, Spud." The woman with dirty blonde hair stands in front of me, her hands behind her back as she shoots daggers at me with dark brown eyes.

Next to her, a man with a mop of brown curls and green eyes is standing, clearly the one in charge as he stands with his back straight, eyebrows knitted together in curiosity as he studies Juniper and I.

"Patience, Willow," His voice is calm as he stands firm. "after all, they could be very useful to us."

Willow laughs dryly, "Useful? These two are utterly useless without their precious weapons. We'd do them a favor by killing them now, save them the pain and torture that would come to them if we spared their lives."

Spud steps closer to me and gets on his knees. He cups my chin and stares into my eyes. "Tell me, love. Will you answer our questions, or will you be difficult with us?"

I jerk my head to the side, growling as I avoid his gaze. "I won't tell you jack shit, you monsters."

He smiles sadly, a disappointed look in his eyes. "Am I really the monster? You allow children to fight to the death in an arena, and consider yourself sane. You allowed a seventeen year old to torture a twelve year old to death for your own entertainment. How the hell could you think you're the slightest bit sane?"

My eyes widen as it comes to me. "You're the rebels Lark told us about, aren't you? You're trying to start a rebellion!"

Spud shakes his head. "We aren't trying, my dear. It's already _started_."

I narrow my eyes at him, anger boiling in me as I kick my legs and flail my arms, thought it's useless against the bonds that hold me to the chair. "President Lark knows where we are. She'll send a rescue team for us, and kill all of you. She'll bomb the District, too."

The brown-eyed man only stands up and walks back to Perrie, standing in the same formal position as she is. "Kill the one with blue hair. Spare the brunette. I think she could be-" He pauses as the corners of his lips twitch upwards into a smile, "- useful to us."

In a matter of thirty seconds, Perrie has grabbed Juniper by the ear, dragging her in front of me. "Pretend it's like the Games you two love so much. We're all tributes, and I suppose the odds weren't in _this one's_ favor this time." Juniper is releasing one ear-piercing scream after the other, desperately trying to take down Perrie.

Perrie reaches towards her own belt and unsheathes a knife from a holster. She places the blade against Juniper's peach-colored throat, grinning the entire time. Perrie jerks her hand to the side, applying pressure against Juniper's throat, and everything turns red as Juniper's body falls to the floor and Perrie lets out a cackle.

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**A/N:**

**Sorry for a long and crappy prologue. I took a prologue from a deleted story from my old account and edited it a great deal, so it's probably not the best. I just wanted to get the point across that, "Hey, there's a new rebellion starting."**

**There's no information in this chapter in regards to the Arena, but I will be writing another chapter(s?) with some hints.**

**This a SYOT; Submit Your Own Tribute.**

**I'm sure you all know what kind of tributes I'm expecting; interesting, detailed, non-Mary Sues/Gary Stus. Right?**

**Most stories have a 'deadline' for submitting, and don't accept/decline any tributes 'till that date. So, yeah, I'll be jumping onto that bandwagon.**

**The deadline for submitting will be December 14th, which is a Saturday. If I don't have enough tributes by that date, I'll go ahead and expand the deadline.**

**The rest of the information including the form and rules will be on my profile. Happy submitting, and may the odds be ever in your favor . (:**


	2. The Niece & The Maker

**The Niece & The Maker - Chapter 2**

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_Power and control. I'm gonna make you fall. __You  
can't have peace without a war- _**Marina & the Diamonds**

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**President Renee Lark:**

"What is that around your neck, darling?" I ask the little girl in front of me, her blonde hair streaked with pink tied into two braids which hang loosely upon her shoulders.

She looks down at her chest, and her fingers fiddle with the object around her neck. Her eyes meet mine and she bursts into a smile, "Oh, Aunt Renee, _all_ of the girls at school are wearing them!"

"Is that so, Celia?"

Upon her neck is a rope necklace, braided perfectly with nimble fingers. It's held together at the back by a glittering bead, lines similar to those of a braid painted on it. The rope itself is a perfect fit around my niece's neck, tightly fitted yet not uncomfortable-looking.

I recognize it immediately. Just months ago, the entire country of Panem watched a twelve-year old girl, Penelope of District Seven, sport a similar necklace made of rope in the 95th Hunger Games. Of course, Penelope's was fitted incredibly tightly to her neck, slowly choking the life out of her. Not to mention, while Celia's necklace was put on her by herself, Penelope's was forced onto her by Ingrid of District Two, the newest Victor in Hunger Games history.

Celia nods excitedly, "See, my friend Tally, the one with pink hair, do you know her, Auntie?" I nod patiently, smiling despite myself, "Yes, well, Tally's mom toured all the Districts for a business trip thingy, right? And, like, in District Seven, with all the trees and stuff, a lot of people were wearing these. So, her mom brought a few back for Tally, and Tally gave one to me." Celia finishes her story proudly, pointing at her necklace and grinning.

I nod slowly, digesting the story. "Did Tally's mother see any other Districts with that, hm, fashion trend?" I ask nonchalantly, popping a few sugarcubes into a cup of tea then handing it off to my niece.

She takes the cup with both hands, setting it down in front of her as she watches the cubes of sugar melt into the tea. "Not sure," Celia shrugs, giving the tea a quick stir, "I didn't ask."

Our tea-party is interrupted just as I open my mouth to say more. Head Gamemaker Atticus Polo, a charming looking man with perfectly-dyed black hair and surgically-enhanced features, opens the double doors which open with drawn out creaks.

"Miss Celia," Atticus' dark brown eyes dart back and forth between Celia and I, "Your mother is here for you now. She's waiting for you in the lobby. An Avox is waiting outside the door to take you to her."

Celia sighs, standing up from her chair. She swings her white hand bag onto her shoulder, pushing in her chair. "Thanks, Aunt Renee. I love coming over to your house." She walks over to my chair and wraps her skinny arms around me. I return the hug, hesitantly.

"Quickly, now." Atticus chirps.

She rolls her eyes and shuffles towards the Gamemaker. "Good luck with the Games this year, sir," Celia speaks politely, "I'm a big fan of your previous Games. Hope these can live up to 'em!"

He scrunches his waxed brows, saying a barely audible 'thank you' as my niece walks out the doors

It's quiet for a few minutes. I sit with my legs crossed, casually sipping my tea and taking the occasional bite of a crumpet. Atticus stands by the door, looking around my office.

I let out a loud and exasperated sigh, slamming down my teacup onto its saucer. "For the love of all that is holy, Atticus, can't you take a hint?" I hiss, whipping my head around to look at him, "Have a seat already."

Atticus grins, "Sorry, President." He walks swiftly to the table, sitting where Celia once sat. The Gamemaker helps himself to a clean teacup and a crumpet before continuing, "You know, I've got all the Arena plans."

I fold my arms onto the table, nodding for him to go on.

"The tributes will be in the air." He says simply, piling another pastry onto his plate.

"In the air?" I repeat, "How so? Will they be in space? In hovercrafts? Given physical enhancements to be able to fly?" My mind is racing a million thoughts a second, trying to picture flying tributes.

Atticus hesitates before answering, "Not the tributes themselves. More so the arena. We plan on having islands that are hovering in the air. The tributes will be able to get from island to island with—" He stops, a smirk appearing on his face, "—Well, it's truly a bit hard to explain. Perhaps I can interest you in a ride to the Arena, instead?"

I shake my head, waving a hand in the air, "No. I refuse to visit any of the Arenas, as I've told you before. It makes me feel like a _tribute_." The word 'tribute' brings a foul taste to my mouth, metallic-like and dreadful.

The Gamemaker reaches into his breast pocket, pulling out a hologram-receiver. He presses the round button on the base, causing a transparent image to pop up. Atticus adjusts the receiver so I can see the image clearly. "This is the rough-draft, so to speak, of the Arena. I still have a few tweaks to work out."

"Looking interesting enough," I decide, my eyes sweeping over the image, "Just one question. What are those things? The rectangular objects on the Cornucopia on this island?" I point at the said objects, narrowing my eyes at them.

Atticus Polo gives a husky laugh, "Well, President Lark, unless I can persuade you to take the ride to the Arena, I'm afraid the possibilities are all in the air."

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**A/N:**

**Hope you enjoyed this chapter! This introduced you to three Capitol citizens who will impact the story rather largely, along with giving you a few hints as to the Arena.**

**I've received 10 tributes as of 11/28/13. However, keep in mind I haven't accepted or declined any of them; so you still have a chance at getting your tribute into your District of choice (:**

**Thanks _so much_ for all the positive response so far, and Happy Thanksgiving to all the American readers out there.**


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